Death of an Innocent
by CrossEyedConstable
Summary: Tim Burton Sleepy Hollow movieverse. Constable Ichabod Crane, determined yet squeamish is given his hardest case yet when a plague seems to strike the city of London. Corpses, drained of blood and pale as the moon keep showing up on every street corner. It's a plague alright, and it's up to the Constable to stop it. Might get a little gory, ye have been warned.
1. Chapter 1

The clock strikes, announcing the arrival of midnight as the streets begin to go still. Shopkeepers close up their shops as the wealthy retire to their chambers. The lower class, the women of the night and the men in the opium dens are still going strong. To them, the night is only beginning.

"Fancy a touch? Ten cents will get you all this an' more..." The prostitute purrs in her lower class English accent. She's wearing too much makeup that makes her look a demented clown, but her body makes up for the poor excuse of a face. Her dress, ragged and faded is cut just above her knee, revealing her torn stockings and ample cleavage. The customer that she's trying to attract is a tall man, wearing an expensive coat with a simple cravat tied around his neck. It's clear that he's wealthy and not interested in the woman, and yet she continues.

"Ten cents..." The woman continues and wraps her leg around him. The man makes a noise of disgust and pushes her off him, sending her tumbling to the ground. The ground with patches of dirt and cobblestone is filthy and filled with garbage. She hastily sits up, pinning her dirty hair back into place and forcing herself to smile. Her teeth have started to blacken which means that she's another addicted soul to opium. Even now she seems to be under the drug as she weakly smiles up at him, her eyes half closed.

"Jus' a lil' touch of sin. Let da' fun begin..." The woman mutters, starting to slur her words as she shakily stands. The man is disgusted beyond belief by this woman and in one swift movement he has her pinned against the brick alley wall.

"Like it rough, don'tcha?" She questions as the cool blade of a dagger is suddenly being held against her throat. Her light blue eyes widen in fear as she begins to struggle against the man, even though he's much stronger then her.

"No money! For you, free! Jus' don't kill me!" She rather pathetically begs as the man calmly cuts down her throat to her breasts. She gasps for air and begins to choke on her blood as he carves delicate patterns into her breasts, watching as the blood runs down her chest and into his hands.

"Beautiful." The man says as he leans over and begins sucking blood from the wound on her neck. Her breathing only becomes more difficult as he seems to pierce her flesh with his teeth and soon she's falling to the ground as the life leaves her eyes. He pulls away, his mouth dripping with blood and grins wickedly at her.

"May the Devil take care of you..." He whispers and uses a bloodstained handkerchief to wipe the majority of the blood off his face. The stars are already starting to fade, and he knows that the sun will be up soon. The woman is long dead in a puddle of her own blood. He smiles at her one last time, knowing that the constables will just love this and leaps away into the shadows.

"Crane! Crane, where the Devil are you?!" A fellow constable who goes by the name of Smith, and is as dumber than a sack of stones cries out for the young constable. Constable Crane jumps as he hears his name being called and almost knocks over the ink pot, that he was using to fill in some paperwork with.

"I-In here, Sir." He replies, immediately hating how his voice is quivering. The other constable enters the room and the comparison between the two men is very different. Constable Smith is large, almost overweight while Crane is slim and much too pale for his liking.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost." He says and smirks at his nervousness. It's quite fun for the other constables to pick on him for how jumpy he is, like a rabbit almost. He stands up as straight as he can and attempts to look calm and composed.

"I assure you I-I have not seen any ghouls or ghosts, despite your frequent...Mischief." He mutters, his English accent coming in quite clearly which fits in well for this London constabulary. He stomps into the office, laughing to himself at the ridiculous items on the bookshelf and slams a rather heavy looking folder onto the desk.

"Pardon my intrusion, but what sort of matter is this folder?" Crane asks and cocks an eyebrow in confusion.

"The Superior wants you to solve this. Have fun." Constable Smith replies and makes his way out, purposely knocking over a few books as he exits. He heavily sighs and picks up the books, stuffing them back into the shelf. It's no surprise that his superior, a rather perverted Judge assigned him this sort of case. Ever since he arrived in London and his superior received word from his superiors in America, he has been assigned the strangest and most complicated cases. The constable has solved every one though and seems to have only angered his superior. It's like the Judge wants him to fail so he has an excuse to taunt and mock him even more.

"Perhaps he'll leave me alone today..." Crane mutters and takes a deep breath as he opens the folder. The folder is stuffed to the brim with papers with have all been scribbled in, in Smith's sloppy almost child like handwriting. He sighs once more, and reaches under his desk taking out an odd pair of goggles with an expendable eyeglass.

"Crane!" A deep voice suddenly yells, banging on his door and completely breaking his deep concentration. Crane jumps, letting out a stifled shriek and knocks the folder to the floor. Papers and notes of all sizes flutter to the floor and he covers his face with his hands in frustration.

"Yes?"

"Judge Turpin wants to see you."

Crane visibly loses all the color in his already pale complexion as his vision starts to darken. The door being flung open snaps him out of his near fainting spell, as the Judge enters his small office.

"Hello there Constable..." He seems to purr in an awful, sickly sweet voice and makes his way over to his desk. The constable is on the floor, picking up the papers and looks up in fear at the Judge. The Judge cruelly smiles at the constable in this vulnerable state and offers a hand to help him up. He carefully takes his hand with a shaking hand and attempts to stay calm, any fear will be detected by Turpin and he will use it his advantage.

"G-greetings Sir." He mutters, avoiding all eye contact and lets go of his hand. Judge Turpin shakes his head and grabs onto the constable, pulling him towards him and pressing him against his chest. He lets out a small "eep" noise of fear and freezes up, not daring to struggle against him. That'll only make things worse.

"There's no need to fear me, Ichabod, I won't hurt you...Much." Judge Turpin says as he pulls away from him and cowers against his desk.

"N-no Sir, there's no need." Ichabod quickly replies and forces himself to awkwardly smile at him.

"No need? There's always a need. A need that can only be satisfied by-"

"No thank you!" He cries out and rushes out of his office. Judge Turpin stands there in a confused silence, not understanding what just happened as Ichabod enters the office once more.

"F-forget the folder. Have a lovely day, S-Sir." The constable says as he scoops up the remaining papers and stumbles out of the office. Once outside he takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to stay calm and opens up the folder. As he opens it, a cream colored paper falls out that he failed to notice before. It's clearly a letter of sorts and he begins to read it.

"Dear constabulary, my name is Janice Elizabeth de Winters. The woman you found in the alley with her throat cut open and her body violated, was my sister. She was a good woman and wouldn't harm a soul. Please, whoever is reading this letter you must help me. My sister was murdered in cold blood and she must be avenged.

May the Lord shine down upon you."

Written at the bottom in black ink was her address and what looked like a prayer, that she had torn out of a Bible and attached it to the letter.

"Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you."

The verse reminds Ichabod of his childhood, the Reverend that was his father and how he was forced to study the Bible day after day. It wasn't fun and it's not something that the constable wishes to repeat. If he could choose to never see or hear another verse he would gladly do it, but the most of society seems to be religious. Ichabod reads over the quote once more and carefully folds the letter in half. This Janice, the woman that lost his sister clearly wants her sister's killer to be caught and brought to justice and yet at the same time she wants the justice to be fair and just.

"Don't we all want a fair and equal justice system..." The constable mutters as he tucks the letter into his inner waistcoat pocket and just as Constable Smith saunters by.

"Already talking to yourself? I knew you were mad, but didn't expect to see a display of madness." He says and laughs to himself. Ichabod ignores him and turns on his heels towards the exit, he has a certain Janice de Winters to visit.


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing like publishing the next chapter before Halloween. I apologize for the hiatus, I actually forgot this was on here. Hopefully I'm here to stay for I have a lot planned for this story.

The sun is starting to rise by the time Constable Crane exits the constabulary. Turpin of course got to him before he could leave, and was glad to give him a stack of paperwork. He yawns, covering his mouth with his forearm as he finally exits the constabulary, realizing that it's almost been twenty-four hours since he last slept. No big deal, the Constable has pulled all nighters before and this time is no different. Anyways, he has no time to rest! He was lucky enough to receive one of the last shifts that doesn't end until six, and it's only four in the morning.

The case is definitely one of the stranger ones, and yet he reads over the letter a couple hundred times more, until his eyes are burning and the letters are all scrambled together. He stumbles into the street and for a good ten minutes, the only sound are his thick soled boots on the pavement and a few birds. It's calm and quiet and almost relaxing, which is almost a new feeling for the Constable. He cannot remember the last time his nerves actually settled, and this feeling would have stayed for quite some time if a woman didn't jump out at him. Well she was more of thrown out of one of the alley taverns, but it's still terrifying and Crane gives out a high-pitched yelp.

He stares for a few seconds, utterly confused and mildly frightened before crouching down and gently placing a hand on her shoulder. She's dressed simply in a low cut dress, that is in faded brown and long brown hair is tangled and she seems rather limp. Good heavens! Is this woman dead?!

"Get yer 'and off a me!" She screeches like a wild alley cat, and pushes the Constable away. Crane backs away, his hands raised as if she's aiming a pistol at him and nearly trips. He's shaking and attempting to remain calm, despite having no control over this situation or this woman.

"W-well, I-"

"Shut yer mouth!" She hisses, also like a cat and without a moment's hesitation slaps Ichabod across the face. He inhales sharply, stumbling backwards even more and finally crashing into the brick alley wall. She stands and glares at him,her eyes are a startling blood red color and her skin is as pale as the snow that's starting to fall. The Constable shivers and it's unknown if it is from the dropping temperature or the cold look that this woman is giving him.

"M-Ma'am..." Ichabod weakly stammers, already growing terrified of her eye color and how she seems to be getting closer and closer to him, and how she is...Sniffing him?!

"Silence." Is all she says, as in one swift movement, she rips his cravat off. A dark red blush rises in the Constable's pallid cheeks as he strongly stands. He will not stand for being improper, especially in front of woman no matter what color her eyes or skin is!

"Ma'am! I-I say!" He declares, as she slams her palm into his shoulder, knocking him against the wall. To Ichabod's horror, her mouth opens and extends almost like a boa constrictor. Several inch long fangs extend and hover above his jugular vein . All the color drains from his face as his eyes widen to the point of pain, as she gets closer and closer, until there's a loud hiss and she falls over.

Sticking out of her back is an arrow and standing over her is a beautiful woman, clutching a crossbow to her chest. This woman looks rather unfazed by the cowardly constable and this demonic diva.

"J-Janice...?" Ichabod questions, not knowing who is who anymore as everything goes black once again.

The Constable comes to with a start, gasping for air and in a cold sweat. Another nightmare. Another horrid nightmare has plagued his mind and prevented him from sleeping. He's not surprised. It's common for his mind to continue to pester him, even after he's lost consciousness.

"I've never seen a man faint before." The woman says and Ichabod realizes that she's sitting next to him, sharpening a silver dagger. He stares in a mixture of confusion and fear at the woman, wondering why a woman is sitting next to him. She has long black hair, running down her back and light brown eyes, along with a dark green dress that looks as if it was woven out of grass. The material is most odd and Crane has to force himself not to touch it. That would be most improper and rather embarrassing. She notices the staring and smirks at him as she stands. She's strangely muscular and looks like she might kill him, if he dares looks at her like the other men of London do.

"I-I apologize if I-I've disturbed you, Ma'am..." The Constable mutters and manages to sit up, with the room slightly spinning. How unpleasant. She seems unfazed and looks a bit bored as if this happens everyday

"I've seen worse. Come with me." She commands and Ichabod realizes that her accent is different. It isn't like the English accents, it's more flatter and almost dull? Where is she from? He must know where this mysterious woman is from. Her house is decorated rather plainly and there seems to be an abundance of weapons scattered all over, as he is led to a small kitchen. The plot thickens as this mysterious woman yanks open a cabinet door and removes a clear bottle, with no label or marking on it. An amber liquid is poured into a glass and handed to the nervous Constable.

"Drink this."

Ichabod takes a large sip and immediately begins choking on the bitter and strong liquid. For several moments he can't breathe as she smiles slightly at his suffering.

"Haven't you ever had whiskey before?" She questions and takes a long swig from the brown bottle. He slowly shakes his head no as he watches her with wide eyes. How can a woman drink something so foul, so awful?! Somewhere along his life, Crane's life stopped making sense and he isn't sure it started when he stepped foot in Sleepy Hollow.

"God. Your're worse then the beggar children. Stop staring at me with them big ole eyes." She demands and takes another long swig.

"Y-yes, Ma'am..." He mutters as she suddenly grabs his shirt collar. His cravat is gone, ripped off by the abominable woman in the alley making it very easy to grab onto his shirt. Ichabod breathes sharply and begins trembling as she seems to examine him. What is with everyone grabbing onto him?

"You may be annoying, but you have a nice build. I would fuck you."

"P-pardon?!" The constable chokes out, his face turning a dark crimson color as he stares in horror at her. What vulgar language from a woman!

"Oh please. You're so...Delicate!" She says and takes another long sip from the whiskey bottle. Despite the bottle being half empty, she doesn't seem to be tipsy from it.

"I-I...I-I..."

"Whatever. I'm Jan." She says and drops him to the floor. He coughs several times and sits up, still shaking.

"Y-you...You wouldn't be...W-would you be Janice de Winters b-by any chance?" He manages to ask, fearing the answer a bit. She glances down at him with her chocolate colored eyes, and the fires of Hell itself seem to burn from her very soul. Ichabod yelps and immediately looks away, causing Jan to laugh slightly at his reaction.

"It's Jan." She barks in reply, and stomps out of the room, taking the bottle with her. Ichabod slowly looks up, not understanding at all what just happened.

This is Janice de Winters. This crude, strong woman who swears like a sailor is the woman that sent the letter begging for him. Begging for his help. What has the world come too?

"Mrs. De Winters!" Ichabod cries out as he stands and takes a nervous gulp. He has no choice but to follow her, which he game has only begun.


	3. Chapter 3

Whoooo! Two chapters in one night! Yeehaw!

It's raining when Ichabod makes his way outside. What luck!

"Mrs. De Winters!" He calls out, sounding rather desperate as the rain drips down onto his face. The Constable shivers and realizes that in this weather he won't be able to find anyone. The only thing he'll find is a cold, which he does NOT need.

Half an hour later, Crane is shivering inside a local tavern. There's a roaring fire and his overcoat is being held tightly against himself. He lost Mrs. De Winters, and instead it seems he's picked up a chill from this miserable weather. Ichabod gives up on trying to look for her- for tonight at leas,t and rents a room at the tavern with the few coins he has.

The room is small, but luckily he is used to small rooms with little items in them. He places his ledger on the pathetic looking desk, and decides to sit on the bed while thinking. Thirty seconds later, he's out like a light.

 _The forest smells of spring and feels like a forest from a fairytale. This is the type of forest that fairies would dance under the moonlight in, and centaurs would parade around in the sparkling sunshine._  
 _In the center of this forest is a young boy and a beautiful woman in a dark blue gown. The child smiles up at her as she points towards a bare branch. In the tree, there is a bright red cardinal._  
 _The bird chirps, it seems at them and he laughs._

 _"Little love, look at him. He's singing for you." Lady Crane says and holds her son's hand. Young Ichabod returns the gentle hand holding and watches the cardinal._  
 _In this moment, everything is alright._

Ichabod slowly wakes up as the first rays of golden sunlight are creeping through the small and cracked window. For a moment he lies there, not remembering the last time he had a dream that peaceful.  
He can't spend all morning in bed and quickly rises, getting dressed and starting to pace.

Where did Mrs. De Winters disappear too?! Why was she so mean? Who sent that letter? How did he actually sleep? These questions buzz around his mind for a good half hour, until he decides if he spends another moment in this room, he'll go mad. The Constable grabs his overcoat and exits the room.

London is awake as always, except this time the church bells are ringing. Passing in front of the tavern are several men, all dressed in black and carrying a wooden coffin. A few people stop and watch as the funeral parade goes on by. His attention has been caught by this and Ichabod decides to follow them. They make their way to a cemetery and set the coffin down in an open grave. His eyes narrow as he hides behind a grave, watching them with fascination.

"Thank ye for all arriving." The pastor begins and opens up his Bible.

"We have gathered here today to mourn the lost of Mrs. Janice de Winters."

What?! Now Ichabod is confused as hell. He just met Mrs. De Winters and she was more then alive!  
He needs to find out what is going on and _soon_.  
The funeral eventually ends and the Constable stands up, brushing himself off and makes a direct line over to the pastor.

"Sir!"

"Ah Constable. A protector of the Lord's city you are. What may I do for ye?" The pastor asks in his rather thick Cockney accent. The constable straightens his cravat and stands as tall as he can.

"Mrs. De Winters-"

"A shame. So young and not wed."

"I see. If I may ask, what did she die of?"

"The plague." He answers simply as if Ichabod is an idiot. He rolls his eyes and somehow remains calm.

"Pardon?"

"Have you not heard? A plague is slowly taking over this city. The Lord must be angry. We must all go to church and pray in these trying times."

The pastor's words echo around Ichabod's mind as he wanders around the cemetery. As he reaches a family tomb for one of the wealthiest families, he spots her. Mrs. De Winters. The plot thickens!

"Ma'am!" He cries out and she turns towards him.

"It's you. The cowardly constable." She replies with a smirk, not knowing that the Constable has gathered up some rare courage in order to face her.

"Start speaking or I shall arrest you for being a suspect in the murder of Mrs. De Winters."

She sighs and takes a seat next to a headstone. Crane watches her with fascination, eagerly waiting for her confession.

"Where do I begin? There never was a Mrs. De Winters."


	4. Chapter 4

I am now playing the game of "How Many Chapters Can I Post Until I Have To Go To Bed." It'd quite fun, I highly suggest it.

For anyone reading this story, I feel like all you lovely readers should know that I know about 5% what I'm doing, but everything else that I've written has been made up on the spot. This story might take a different direction then planned or not. Either way, it should be a fun and a creepy ride.

Watch your heads.

"P-pardon...?!" Constable Crane questions, as the woman approaches him. The sun has gone behind the dark clouds and she seems even more threatening. All of a sudden he wishes he wasn't alone. At least in Sleepy Hollow he had Young Masbath by his side.

"Are you deaf? There never was a Mrs. Janice de Winters." She repeats and gently strokes Ichabod's jawline, causing him to shudder. Something about her touch makes him extremely uncomfortable. it reminds him of a certain Judge.

"My name is Heather Briargrove..." She finally says in a whisper, and without a warning, or really any hesitation kisses the Constable. Ichabod's light brown eyes widen in shock and fear,as he pulls away, gasping for air and trembling. His legs are going weak, black dots are having a ballet in front of him and yet he's still conscious. How he is still conscious, he doesn't know. Heather smiles at him and takes his hand, squeezing it hard and bringing him back to his senses.

"Still with me? Good. I need a man for where I want to go." This woman continues on, in a rather sultry voice as she quickly kisses his cheek.

She leads him across Whitechapel and Bell Court and even Fleet Street, to a rather elaborate looking club of sorts, the type of club that Crane would never want to go into. The things he does for this job. There's a list of rules posted outside, but Heather seems to ignore them and sneak past the guard with Ichabod mind you, but as they scamper past the brutish looking bodyguard, The Constable catches a glimpse at the rules. Couples only. So that's why she needed a man. The inside of the club is full of the wealthy citizens of London, all drinking and chatting and dressed in their very best. It's dimly lit with hundreds of candles, and there is a trio of violinists all playing some rather enchanting music.

"Wait here." Heather commands and slips off to the faculties with a bag of sorts, a bag that Ichabod didn't see before. The bag must've been in the club, or perhaps Heather is a witch and made the bag appear out of nowhere. Ichabod sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, attempting not to cry out or laugh. He would like to go home now. It takes a good five minutes for the Constable to regain his composure, and while waiting for Miss Briargrove, he decides to scribble down a few notes in his black ledger. Crane has been sucked into the world of pen and paper once more, and fails to notice Heather slipping out of the women's restroom and tapping his shoulder. Ichabod yelps and drops his quill, as she smiles at his foolish actions.

Miss Briargrove, has changed into a long navy dress with lace around the collar and sleeves, and shining white pearls sown into the fabric. Her brown hair has been pulled back into an elaborate bun of sorts with dangling earrings, and a necklace to match. She even smeared some makeup on her already rather attractive face.

"M-my word..." Ichabod chokes out when he gets an eyeful of her, and blushes rather heavily as he decides to avoid all eye contact. Why oh why, is the company of females so nerve wracking and well scary?! Heather ignores his comment and takes a seat at their table, crossing her legs and tapping her gloved hands on the tabletop. A waiter, a young scruffy looking boy barely ten years old comes over, and Heather orders some sort of drink that must have alcohol in it. Ichabod doesn't really know though, he does not drink. The boy hastily places her order, and rushes off before the bartender boxes his ears again.

"Miss..." Ichabod starts as he finally faces Heather. Hopefully this won't fail, but knowing Ichabod it will.

"Briargrove. Hell, call me Heather." She snaps as her light blue eyes travel upwards towards the ceiling. She seems to see something interesting on the ceiling and smiles.

"Miss Briargrove...I-if you could be so kind, could you possibly explain this whole situation with M-Mrs. Janice de Winters..?" The Constable asks and glances up at the ceiling. What was that dark shape? It must be a chandelier...

Heather takes a sip of her drink wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and leans in to him. She's still smiling and do her teeth look slightly sharper, or is that just his fearful imagination?!

"Janice was killed by a vampire three months ago." Heather rasps in response as a low hiss escapes her throat. Now Ichabod is rather scared as he clutches his ledger to his chest, hoping that'll slow his rapidly beating heart.

"Pardon me, but there-"

"No such thing? Wake up and smell the Death, Constable. The corpses you've found with no blood, the missing men and women..."

"H-how did you know about the c-corpses?!"

She smiles and takes another long sip of her drink, her eyes traveling up towards the ceiling once more.

"Too many questions... I haven't even finished with Jan."

"I-I see." Crane nervously answers and forces himself to breathe slowly. In and out, In and out. He will stay conscious, if it kills him.

"Jan was a nice girl. A bit of a flirt but nice. She was walking home one night when the vampire attacked. She comes to my door, crying and screaming and I take her in before the whole block is woken up." Heather starts and by her grim expression and how she's downing her drink, the next segment of the story isn't pleasant. Not that the first half was.

He pauses writing and glances down at his elegant cursive. So far he has everything frantically scribbled down. That doesn't mean his hand isn't shaking like crazy.

"She...Jan died that night. She got a really high fever and just withered. Y'know when you leave a plant outside too long and it just shrivels up? That was Jan. Then she came back."

"C-came back?" Ichabod questions. Oh goody! Here come the black dots again, dancing and swirling in front of his eyes.

"That's what I said. She came back with this...This horrible papery skin and glowing red eyes. She said she was thirsty. Jan said she was so thirsty and then she screamed."

Ichabod pauses once more, looking much paler and even more frightened.

"W-why did she scream..?" He questions, almost fearing the answer.

"There was a vampire at our window." Heather finishes and chugs the rest of her drink in a rather unladylike fashion. Ichabod shakily stands and glares at her, attempting to be brave.

"I-is that what you believe? T-there are n-no such things as v-vampires!" He says, his voice quivering and forces himself to stand.

"N-never has been...N-never will b-be..."

Heather laughs. It's a cruel laugh that sends chills down the Constable's spine.

"Not real? Why my dear Constable, look above you. Look around you."

To Ichabod's horror, he looks up and instantly freezes with fear. There are several shapes, clearly human on the ceiling just hanging around. One of them spots Crane and hisses at him, showing the same fangs that the woman in the alley had and shining crimson eyes.

Ichabod Crane is in a club full of vampires.

"Well?" Miss Briargrove asks as he backs away, towards the door. This is too much. It can't be real. No, no it all must merely be a hallucination or odd dream! It's getting harder to breathe, is the air getting thicker in here? Ichabod fumbles with the door, trying to find the doorknob but there is none. His fear only grows as the customers get up, their fangs showing as they hiss and snarl and get closer and closer and-

 _The forest has an enchanted feel to it and the young boy wanders through the knee high, soft grass. The grass is a minty green and he picks a few wildflowers here and there and soon finds his mother under a twisted elm tree. His mother is wearing a dark blue gown and is sitting in the grass, weaving and turning blades of grass into small smiles at the baskets and at her. She's taught him so much and is his best friend._

 _"Little Love, come here." Lady Crane says as the small boy runs into her open arms. She strokes him and braids the flowers he gathered into his hair and he's safe. He's safe and warm and comfortable and loved._  
 _Ichabod Crane is loved._

The peaceful dream slowly comes to an end with the image of an Iron Maiden and Crane, once more has jolted awake. He's lying on the cold cobblestoned streets and a few citizens pass him by, mistaking him for a drunk or beggar. The sun is burning him, making him squint but that's only because of how dark the club was. Speaking of the club, he seems to be nowhere near it nor near Mrs. de Winters or Miss Briargrove. Crane feels like crying. He got so close, he got to the vampire's nest and yet fainted like some sort of sickly maid!

The Constable manages to stand and brushes himself off, finding out that his hands have been scratched up pretty badly. The scars on the palms of his hands are bleeding once more, and just to top it off he has a throbbing headache. Lovely, just lovely.

This case is going to be _great_.


	5. Chapter 5

Three days.

Three days have passed at a snail's pace and nothing has shown up, that would help further the Constable in his case. At least his hands have healed from the scratches he received from his impromptu nap on the cobblestoned street. Ichabod has visited the cemetery seven times during these past days and NOTHING has shown up! Is it all for waste? Is he wasting is time doing foolish tasks and visits?

"Why if it isn't the cowardly Constable." A rather familiar voice, full of malice seems to purr to him as he whirls around. Miss Briargrove is standing a few feet behind him, wearing a mourning dress and holding a matching parasol. Finally! Someone that can help him!

"Miss Briargrove, pray tell where-"

"None of your business." She snaps at him and turns on her heels, preparing to leave the dark alley that the Constable was snooping around in, for clues of course. Something about being left behind in the dark, damp alley isn't that appealing to Crane and he sprints after her.

"Wait!"

The maiden comes to a stop at the mouth of the alley, not daring to go into the sunlight which Crane fails to pick up.

"Yes? Do you miss my charm and fine features already?" Heather asks, well more of demands and folds up her ebony parasol. He stands straight up, attempting to look professional.

"May I have a word with you?"

Big Ben chimes in announcing the arrival of six, which for many of the lower class is the end of the work day. For a good twenty minutes or so, while the sun sets there is a cheerful crowd filling the streets. Women gossiping with their girlfriends, and going home to tend to the home and hearth. Men joking around as men seem to do and entering the closest pubs, for a drink before they head on home. One woman, limping slightly and looking exhausted is making her way down the street. This woman is Mary O'Mallory, an Irish immigrant who hoped that in coming here to London, she would have a better life.

Boy was she wrong.

From sunup to sundown, Mrs. O'Mallory is working in a textile factory and today was the day that really was the straw on the camel's back. Her ragged bootlace got caught in one of the machines, and her ankle was twisted. This resulted in a terrible pain and a limp, that makes her look like some sort of beggar woman. Hopefully her husband will be home to help her care for their young.

A shadow races across the streets and there's a scream, clearly feminine. Mary quickens her pace, despite not being able to walk very well and prays to the Lord that she'll make it home.

 _"Jus' one more night. Please. I want tah say so long to my wee ones_."

"Rather late for a lovely lady to be out..." A man seems to growl in an unknown accent, as a cold hand grabs onto her shoulder. Tears are filling Mary's eyes. She can feel elongated fingers wrapping themselves in her mane of fiery red curls. Where is a Constable when needed?! It seems this street has become even darker and the moon is hiding behind thick, black clouds.

"Please Sir...I-I be on m-my way, no trouble for ye." The woman begs as her neck is tilted back, revealing her creamy white skin. A whimper escapes Mary's mouth, one of fear as the man leans over and sinks his fangs into her veins. She screams.

"Don't you have a wife to be getting back too?" Miss Briargrove asks as she sips her drink. The Constable brought her to a pub, assuming it would be a wise choice and regrets his decision. This tavern is full of local drunkards and they all seem to be contempt with screaming as loud as they can. Crane grits his teeth and remembers that murdering, even if it's an annoying drunk is against the law.

"No actually I do not. I am a bachelor and perfectly fine where I stand."

"You sure about that?" She questions with a slight smirk. Ichabod narrows his eyes at her-why is she blushing?! Is she amused by him, or has she grown feelings for him? Why are women so very confusing? Especially women that drink and curse and protect him from vampires and...Crane shakes his head, ridding himself of those thoughts and glances away from her and her bewitching smile. Katrina has nothing on Miss Heather Briargrove.

"Yes." Crane snaps at her and hastily stands. The second he stands, the doors to the pub are flung open and a young Constable, barely older then a child charges inside.

"Crane?! Is there a Constable Crane?" He demands, looking rather desperate and worried.

"None other." Crane replies as the boy rushes over to him.

"Your superior wants to see you."

His blood freezes and Ichabod nearly topples over. What does the Judge want this time?! The other Constable waits for a response and when Ichabod says nothing, he runs out of the tavern.

"That seemed pretty urgent. You best get going, Constable." Heather says, cool and calm as ever and Ichabod nearly screams at her. How can she be so calm when he is to face one of his biggest fears?!

"Don't disappear. This is far from over."

"Whatever you say, _Constable_." She says in that silky voice and blows a kiss towards Ichabod. He blushes a dark red and stumbles out of the pub, refusing to look back at her.

The walk to the constabulary is silent, as he is lost in his thoughts and he fears that if he opens his mouth he will be sick. Perhaps he turned in some of the paperwork late. Maybe he wrote too fast and the Judge can;t read his handwriting. Maybe he's getting promoted to High Constable! Before Crane knows it, he's at the constabulary doors and gulping nervously as they open.

"Ah there you are. Right on time."

The Judge's office is huge and he himself is taller then Crane, with silver hair. The Constable can feel his heart beating much too hard and it threatened to climb up his throat, and up his mouth.

"Care for a drink?" Judge Turpin asks as he makes his way over to a small table, with many glass bottles of alcohol on it.

"Oh! N-no thank you S-Sir...I..." Crane starts as the dreaded Judge smiles at him. The smile is unnerving, how a lion looks at an antelope.

"You always seem to fascinate me, Crane."

"I-I do Sir?"

"Why of course! None of my other Constables are as squeamish or... _Delicate_ as you.." Turpin says and as he finishes, he places a hand on Ichabod's shoulder. A chill runs down his spine. This touch doesn't feel right, something is off. He would like to go home now.

"Yes. Very delicate and smooth." The Judge says as he runs a hand down on of Ichabod's cheekbones. The Constable freezes up and attempts to stay calm.

"S-Sir? Didn't you need me for s-something?" The Constable chokes out, getting a death glare from Turpin.

"Why of course. I always need you Ichabod, but if you must know...Another one has been found dead with all the blood gone from her body."


End file.
